


not happy

by august_the_real



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 07:28:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3111248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/august_the_real/pseuds/august_the_real
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"there is an ending, somewhere, in all this"</p>
            </blockquote>





	not happy

title: not happy   
author: august   
email: mrsrosiebojangles  
* 

She is gradually aware that they are collecting bits of each other. Suits in her closet, saline solution in his bathroom. Memos thrust into her hands, "hey CJ, can you give this to Toby tonight?" 

She has to pull over onto the side of the road. Traffic passes her by, news bulletin on the radio talks of impeachment and her head against the steering wheel. Somewhere, in this, there is an ending. 

Later, hours later, his hand on her thigh. Her key on his key-ring, his scotch in her cupboard. Pulled gently, too gently to him, slow moving over her. Pulling herself away, elbows on mattress eyes open in the almost morning. 

"Toby, no." Head against pillow, alarm set for early meetings with Babish. "Not, not like this." 

Twenty years of history, eight months of these too patient mornings. Her key on his keyring, his lips on her shoulder. Pulling over onto the side of the road two times in one week. Leo's whispered tones. Not crying in her office, opening apartment door, not sure what's inside. 

Tears over polenta and CNN. 

Waiting in darkness, his breath on shoulder. Closing eyes to "CJ? Are you, what's wrong?" 

"I don't want to think, tonight." Hoping he will understand. Hands on hip, pulled towards him. Knees and elbows touching sheets, head in pillow, eyes closed hoping for sudden deafness, blindness anything but this atrophy. 

Counting movements. One, two, three. His hand between her thighs, her head back, her breath pushed out. Losing count. Stretching out underneath him, face in pillow. "No," as he tries to move off her. "Stay." 

Dreams of being trapped in pyramids. Dreams of being sealed into walls. 

Coffee. Toast. Toby's cigarette. Being watched pulling on clothes. Sliding rings over fingers, watch over bone. His fingers circling wrist, metal watch hitting skin. "You've lost weight, CJ." 

Wonder at being known too well. Palm stretched across stomach. Wonder that it is him. 

Knowing there is an ending, somewhere, in all this. Thinking about LA. Thinking about job offers from friends who say, "just in case." Thinking about sex with nameless men on kitchen tables. Thinking about sex with men who can't circle wrists like fortune tellers. Men who likely don't care. 

No sweaters. No scarves. No long black coats. 

Standing in the White House toilets. Not recognising skin pulled over cheekbones as her own.


End file.
